


acolyte

by divinetock3



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst??, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Reader-Insert, an excuse to give arthur happiness let's be real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 18:40:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18675289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divinetock3/pseuds/divinetock3
Summary: (prequel to/night before of 'sunlight') after coming back to shady belle with jack returned, arthur's night isn't quite over.





	acolyte

**Author's Note:**

> this took a LOT out of me, tbh. there were MANY different versions but this is the only one im Proud of so! enjoy!!! thank you for all the love and praise on my first fic, it means the world and i wish u all the best <3

The moon hangs high and full when the boys return with Jack in tow, babbling away, unaware of the stress all of them have been under while he's been gone. Almost immediately once they return, drinks start pouring and a fire is lit. Arthur lags behind from the attention, nodding to but sheepishly dismissing every measure of gratitude shot in his direction. Seeing Abigail sweep her son up was reward enough.

Wins don't come very often and so tonight they're riding this one for all it has: Javier playing guitar and singing, Hosea telling stories, Dutch already making plans for their next move--and Jack, center of attention, soaking in the joy from his mother's lap, too young to understand but able to feel that the adults are drunk on triumph, no matter how temporary it may be. Arthur hangs back, content to watch and listen and smoke, as the small fractured group they've forged comes together.

This house won't be theirs for much longer; somebody is bound to show up, whether it be the law or O'Driscolls' or God knows who else that has a bone to pick. Then they'll be back on the road trying to find somewhere else to stay. It isn't ideal, but that's the way it has to be after all that Blackwater business. Optimism is poisonous nowadays, but Arthur holds tight to the last threads of hope that they'll find their peace sometime soon. Even through all the tragedies and horrors, they always pick up and move on. They'll keep pushing on and on and on until there's no damn road left to tread.

Across the fire sometime later, Arthur spots [Name] kneeling in front of Jack. The boy is sitting back on his hands away from the rowdy campfire, staring up at the night sky with childlike wonder. A kind smile sits on her face and through the voices around him, Arthur can hear the boy going on about his stay with Bronte. She pinches Jack's cheek and rises just as Dutch approaches Arthur, a tipsy grin blooming. "Soon, Arthur," he's saying. "Tahiti. Anywhere on the damn map."

"We'll see," says Arthur, allowing a measure of amusement in his voice. "Think 'm gonna retire for the night."

"You deserve it," says Miss Grimshaw, overhearing. "It's been a long night."

"Hell, a long day," says Dutch. "Get some sleep. We got huntin' to do in the morning, remember." He turns away from Arthur and addresses those within earshot. "We have had some...eventful weeks, let's all take the time to enjoy and have fun for as long as we can-"

Somewhere in the middle of the speech, Arthur drifts off to the house. He very reluctantly accepted the free room inside when it was offered to him by the others, saying he deserved it for clearing the house out with John, who also shares a room across the hall with his son and Abigail. Arthur was content to stay outside with the others in their tents'. But Dutch had laid his hand on Arthur's arm and said in that low, genuine tone he uses on rare occasions, "Take the room, friend." Arthur had nodded, understanding that this was more for them than him. Their way of repaying him. How can Arthur tell them he doesn't need to be compensated for saving those he's grown to love; their their being alive and healthy is enough for him?

The stairs creak as he climbs them—hell, every inch of the dilapidated house groans. It's far past its time. Shutting the door, he wanders to the broken window and stares down at the swamp, hazy and simmering. Across the yard he can make out the others laughing and joking. It's a dream to see them all getting along and having fun. They've been having a rough few months. He can't think of a better group of people better deserving of a night free of alarm.

He shuts the threadbare curtains. The moon seeps through nonetheless and guides Arthur back to the bed. He sits on the edge, toeing out of his mud-caked, scuffed boots, when a small knock on the door raises his head as it opens.

[Name] stands there, arms crossed over her stomach. A wistful smile akin to the one she reserved for Jack sits on her face. "I see you're off to bed," she says. "Hope I'm not a bother."

"Ne'er could be," says Arthur. "What can I do for you?"

"I didn't get the opportunity to pass on my thanks for bringing Jack home."

A little tired of hearing this, he says, "Wasn't jus' me. You got John 'nd Dutch too-"

"-I spoke to them by the fire," she interjects, the smile deepening in her cheeks. "I know you don't like hearing 'thank you', Arthur, but I think you still need to hear it every now and again. Deserve to," she adds softly.

Arthur is left awestruck. She seems to be having that effect on him as of late. The others have welcomed her in, especially for all the help she's been giving, in- and outside of the camp. Very quickly after they picked her up, she's been fighting to be of some worth. As she's bonded with them, it's gone from wanting to be useful to wanting to support those she cares for. For months she's been a valuable, irreplaceable member of their little family.

"'ppreciate that," he says in a low voice.

She hovers in the room for a beat, cradling her elbows. It occurs to Arthur all at once how flushed and fidgety she is. She's slowly rocking back and forth, balancing her weight from foot to foot. He's never seen her look so out of place.

"You doin' good?"

"I wanna say something else." She turns to the door to shut it. It refuses after one, two tries, but then it secures on the third and she looks to Arthur. "What's wrong with this damn thing?"

"Ain't just the door," he says, and raises his arms to the walls, the ceiling. "You see where we are?"

Her mouth parts for a small, breathy laugh. It hits Arthur right in the center of his chest. "Got me there."

"Good luck gettin' back out," he says. He pulls off the second shoe, placing the two beside the bed. "What you need it shut for? Is somethin' the matter?"

"No." Now her hands sit clasped in front of her. "You might laugh, actually."

"Yeah?"

"We've all been worried sick the past few days, with Jack and all...It's scary, isn't it? How even a little boy that wouldn't hurt a fly isn't safe from this world?"

He almost does laugh, for a different reason: John had said the same thing. Arthur was young when he started, but it had been a choice. Dutch and Hosea kept him on his feet through the start, but truthfully it didn't take Arthur much time to get the hang of things. He supposes this life has always been his path to walk along. He has a hard time picturing Jack following in his or John's footsteps. He's just a kid—a good one at that.

"Sure is," says Arthur. Outside Javier has started singing again, the others joining in this time. He can hear Hosea's strained laugh somewhere in the mix of voices.

"It takes the best of us, doesn't it? This life," she clarifies after a pause. A reverie passes over her and she stares across the room, caught up in a thought Arthur can't begin to guess on. "I've been in my head a lot, if you couldn't tell. Just thinking and asking myself questions. I've learned that a big fear of mine is that as good as this has been, it'll be over for me just as quick. You can never really guess what tomorrow will bring. I hate not knowing."

"Comes with the job."

"I know that. I'll have to accept it one day, but for now I'm using that fear to keep me going. It pushes me forward, knowing I might not live to see tomorrow. Sort of funny, isn't it? I've been doing and saying things I never would've before simply because I don't know if I'll get the chance again."

Arthur's hands sit on his knees. As gentle as he can he asks, "What's wrong, [Name]?"

Her eyes meet his and stay there for the first time since she walked in. She looks resolute, so sure of herself that he gets a chill on the back of his neck. "You've been on my mind, too," she says, voice dropping to a hush as she hands him her secret.

A muscle clenches in Arthur's jaw. This hadn't been what he was expecting. Maybe she'd tell him her newfound valiance landed her in some trouble while he was gone; it would be messy and it'd hurt all of them, but at least he can fight his way through it. Somehow what she's dropped in his lap is scarier. How can he shoot his way out of this?

"[Name]." It's a pleading, warning tone.

"I had to say it, you have to understand," she says with a stiff bravery he only ever hears anyone use during a gunfight. "In the morning we can go about our day like nothing happened. I'd be alright with that. You don't have to say it back-"

"It ain't that," he cuts in. The voices outside fade into nothingness. Suddenly the room is too loud and too quiet, too big and too small, all at once. His jaw holds tight. It's all so sudden and as thrown as Arthur is, his only thought is, _What does a woman like her see in a man like me?_ "I've...done terrible things."

She stills. Apparently she hadn't been expecting a sober response of that kind, and it hurts Arthur to think she had likely been steeling herself for rejection or anger. Christ, the world has truly gone to shit if someone like her is getting tossed aside by a man as low as Arthur.

She blinks, clearing her thoughts. "We all have."

"But..." His voice drifts off, knowing the list runs too long: _You're different; I ain't a good man; you can do better than this life; you can do better than_ me. He rubs at the back of his neck. No, this isn't how he was expecting to spend his evening. A warm bed, a dreamless sleep, maybe. Not a revelation that sets his heart off the way it does only when he has a gun in his hand.

"Stand up, Arthur."

Mouth pressed in a line, Arthur stands. His bones ache; everything aches lately. But the way she's looking at him with that softness he could easily shatter, Arthur considers how less it all hurts when she happens to be around. All the shit from the past few months fades away. The more time they spend together, the more easily it seems that Arthur relearns how to smile, laugh.

She approaches him carefully, eyes searching his face until he feels naked. If there's anyone on this earth that can read his mind it must be her; she seems to always know just how to drive him up the wall.

She touches his wrist, the pulse jumping to meet her skin, and turns his hand over. Arthur's ugly, scarred, calloused hands that have pulled triggers, beaten men, and worse. It's giant in hers, comically so. A small smile on her face, she presses a gentle kiss to the center of his palm, her head bowed. When it raises, even in the darkness he can see the flush in her cheeks and neck. It's horrifically endearing.

_Dutch said you was a big shadow cast by a tiny tree._ Micah had told him it meant Arthur wasn't as rough-and-tumble as he let on. Arthur dismissed it then and still does—Micah doesn't know a thing about what Arthur's seen and done—but he can't help remembering it now. He, the facade of a big shadow, standing before a woman who has been nothing but kind and understanding to him, and feeling small because of it.

"Are you scared?"

The first thing to come to mind is Sean's body lying in Rhodes, piles and piles of Grays' around him; Dutch dragging the Braithwaite woman out of her house and forcing her on the ground as the fire grew like a monster, flecks of ash and embers drifting in the air; John and Abigail and what they must've gone through while Jack was gone, minds wandering to the worst; Milton and Ross arriving at their doorstep with an offer in one hand and a threat in the other.

He thinks of Blackwater. The curse that has followed them for months. Maybe John is right: There's no end to these horrors unless they learn from their mistakes. Arthur could die happily for these people; he isn't afraid of dying, not yet, not if it means they're alright and together. He's afraid that he'll fail them. Enough has gone wrong already. If Arthur was the praying kind, he'd ask for them to be safe before his death, whenever that may come—more and more it feels sooner than later.

Arthur slips his hand from her grip and touches her cheek. The look in her eye is one of trust he hasn't seen often in his life. "No," he says, quiet, he isn't scared. "Ne'er with you." And when she stands on her toes, he finds himself smiling into the kiss. Her lips are soft, hesitant, and her hands hold his shoulders as she teeters.

The touch of her hot breath on his mouth when they pull away stirs something in his stomach. Arthur kisses her again, already greedy for more. His arms hook around her waist, breathing her in as easy as air, and he pulls her in closer. Her fingers move to unbutton his shirt as he works at her skirt, moving frantically and fumbling more than once. “Jesus,” he mumbles against her mouth, and she laughs openly, teeth pressed to his bottom lip. 

“Need help?”

His shirt hangs open, the late summer breeze stirring chills on his stomach. “No, I—I got—“

“I can do it, Arthur.”

“Ain’t very romantic if you do all the work.”

With a devious smile, she says, “Well, since _I’m _the one around here doing everything anyways…”__

__“Hey, now—“_ _

__But she interrupts him with another heated kiss, cradling his face and urging him back towards the bed. The back of his knees hit the mattress, but Arthur stays standing, working at her buttoned shirt as she shimmies out of the skirt she has pulled off in less than ten seconds._ _

__It lands in a heap on the floor, as do her undergarments and shirt. Arthur takes a long moment to stare, his cheeks burning; he hasn’t been with a woman in years. When his hands cover her bare hips, a shaky breath rattles through his chest. It’s been a long, long time. After Mary, he never imagined another woman to ever want him again. Through his head comes the invasive voice: _Because you don’t deserve—_ __

____

____

__“Making me nervous, Arthur,” she mutters under his gaze. Her lips are swollen and red—a pride overtakes Arthur at the sight—and her shoulders are hunched, self-conscious._ _

__He grips her closer, his nose running over her cheek as he moves to fit his lips to hers. “Don’t be,” he says. “Yer beautiful.”_ _

__Rolling her eyes, she shoves him down until he’s sitting at the edge of the bed. She pushes the sleeves of his shirt down his arms and tosses it blindly over her shoulder. Hands explore as they kiss, his fingers tracing her spine until she shivers and leans in closer, blushing. The heat of her mouth stirs in the pit of Arthur’s stomach, the press of her breasts and the smoothness of her skin making him harden._ _

__“The bed’s small,” she breathes out as his lips trace down her throat, her breath catching as if pulled by rope._ _

__“Sorry ‘bout that, princess.”_ _

__He can’t see her face, but he can make a good guess that she’s rolling her eyes again. With a small laugh in her voice she pushes his chest and says, “You know what I mean.” When his eyes meet hers she asks, “How do you want me, pretty boy?”_ _

__A fire burns low within Arthur. He grips her thighs, hard, and loops them tighter around his lap until she gasps, searching his face. “Quite like ya like this,” he says, his mouth tracing a wet line down between and around her breasts. Feeling bold he searches the peak of one with his tongue and kneads the other, his thumb rolling over her nipple gently. She grips his hair in tight fists and keens lowly._ _

__For the first time in what feels like his entire life, Arthur isn’t with the dirt and the bullets and the blood. For the first time in forever, Arthur thinks only of what’s in front of him, right here, right now. The sweat and her panting and his shaky breaths as he takes her in, holds onto her as if his very being depends on it. He isn’t one for poetry or pretty words, but for the first time, Arthur feels he could be that man for her, if it’s what she really wanted._ _

__She’s so good. He whispers it in her hair, grips her hard enough to leave bruises and she leans into it, needing more and more of him until she’ll burst. And he’ll have her. God, he’ll fight through armies for her._ _

__It feels as if just as soon as they started, they’re finished, panting and chests rising with stunted breath. Their eyes meet and, unbelievably, she smiles, open-mouthed, teeth gleaming, as his hand pushes the hair that’s come loose back from her face. He’s leaning back against the wall, the surface cool against his skull. Him still softening inside her, she leans forward to press a small, chaste kiss to his lips._ _

__Even with her there, pressed against him, Arthur feels the world come back into focus. It’s ugly and charred and something in the pit of his stomach knows it won’t get better soon. He sees the way Hosea looks at Dutch lately and what scares him isn’t that the two men he trusts the most are fighting, but that he’s finding he doesn’t disagree with Hosea. Something is wrong, he knows it, but he knows more importantly that he has a duty to fulfill. For Dutch. Always, it seems, for Dutch._ _

__He’s roused by her hand on his cheek. He realizes, embarrassed, that his eyes are glassy and his mind wandered. But she doesn’t chastise him for it. Instead she sees the sadness caged inside and gives him a second smile, this one demure and only for his eyes. “Let’s get some sleep, Arthur. You need to rest.”_ _

__She gets off him, a small soundless gasp leaving them both at the feeling, and she helps him fit his large body on the bed. Then she slides in front of him, chests pressed together. His hand falls to her waist, taking up so much real estate of her skin, and he presses a kiss to her still-damp forehead. She leans in to rest against his chest and soon he’s drifting off, exhausted, and realizing that maybe it won’t be all bad as long as she’s there to keep his feet on the ground. Maybe they’ve got a chance._ _


End file.
